Spades
by motoroilfreeway
Summary: [USUKUS] The Kingdom of Spades is in current need of a queen. For Alfred Jones though, its current reigning King, he thinks he can rule the kingdom just fine on his own with a Jack who doesn't stop with pushing him into marriage interviews, hoping to change his King's mind. That is, until a man comes along, brought ashore by the waves. We'll see how this goes from there. Cardverse.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: A request thing from tumblr. Finally thought to post it here on FF so I won't forget to update.**

 **Alfred is 19, mind.**

* * *

Most of the time people would think: _it must be hard, ruling an entire kingdom on your own. You handle the economy, you hold your people, maintain law and order, then you also had to keep in contact with the other kingdoms so you'll be able to maintain some kind of balance and control with foreign trade and strengthening alliances._

It pisses Alfred off.

Alright, so they were kind of right. Being a King _is_ hard, but he's not the only one who handles it? There's literally the council, which was by the way, is composed of stuffy guys in formal clothes who does nothing but "debate" over some bills and policies as they scream at each other whilst they pound their hands against the table's surface.

Kings may be in the top of the, uh, _hierarchy_ , but that doesn't mean they do _all_ the work. There's a reason the ruling figures were _three_.

Because they share the work.

The Jack is responsible with anything concerning kingdom-from the policies to handling people civil service exams. If there was anything Alfred needs to know or keep updated with the happenings inside, it's the Jack who answers to him.

The Queen handles anything involving the military. A queen will always be responsible with the kingdom's military prowess. They keep their soldier's spirits and morales up in times of war. They also handle the law, meaning that no policy or bill gets passed without their sign of approval.

That means, no matter which of these guys win, they would still need the queen's approval.

Which was kind of a problem.

It was _the_ problem at the moment, really.

They don't have a queen.

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

Yao says, he sounded like he's scolding him, even. Alfred reckons it must be because he almost got hit by a crumpled sheet of paper that was supposed to hit the door but didn't because Yao opened it.

Not that he cares. It was Yao's fault for opening the door.

"It's my office, of course I'm going to be here." He tells Yao, in his a-matter-of-factly voice that he knows will annoy his Jack. It seemed to work just fine, seeing Yao visibly twitch, his shoulders shaking and his hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. He seemed to be only a little ways away from busting a vein in there.

Too bad it was Yao.

Instead of doing what Alfred wanted to see, he breathes through his nose. Inhale, exhale, inhale, and then exhale again. When he exhales for the last time, his shoulders are relaxed and his fists are no more.

"You were supposed to be at the marriage interview." He hisses out, as if anyone could just easily overhear what he said. It was impossible though, since his offices are sound proof. It protects them from eavesdroppers. Can't have tabloids publishing stupid things about their rulers and make the mobs angry now, do they?

It wasn't like Alfred refusing a queen is new. He sits back on his seat, slouching. He shrugs and raises both feet to rest on the surface of his table. He's got enough sense to tidy up before doing so lest important documents get disturbed from their proper places. If he remembers right, he had a court hearing to attend to later this evening. Something about a theft and a homicide.

"And now I'm not." He tells his jack.

Yao's brows furrow in concern. Wow, he's really serious about this marriage thing, wasn't he? "Last time you said she's too funny for her age."

"Twenty-year olds are supposed to be lame, my dude."

He hears Yao sigh, getting angry is draining his energy it seems. He walks towards one of the chairs by the side of Alfred's desk and rests on it. He raises a hand to stroke the lines between his eyebrows. He's so gonna getting wrinkles if he doesn't stop frowning so much. At least he's following Alfred's advise to do something about them, even if the constant worrying doesn't stop.

"And now?" Yao asks tiredly. Alfred knows Yao already knows the answer to that, but if Yao is some closet masochist, then so be it.

He shrugs, "His hair was funny-looking."

* * *

When Alfred got up that morning, he groaned. Loudly.

His guts were telling him that this day is going to be the worst thing yet. Aside from it being Monday.

He hated Mondays, see. Also, Mondays are usually the day Yao sets the marriage interviews: another reason to not go to work.

Too bad that he's literally the King, meaning he lives in the Palace where he practically works. There's no way he can lie and call-in sick, unless he manages to bribe the physician who will be checking on him. Too bad the guy lives in the palace too, had known Alfred too well ever since the King was a mere boy.

Too fucking bad.

On his way to the room where he was supposed to meet his "queen-to-be", he made sure to walk very slowly, annoying his Jack who decided to walk with him today to where he's supposed to go. It seems that Yao might just barricade the door once Alfred gets in just to make sure he won't leave before the supposed appointment ends.

God, he wished something big would happen today.

Like clubs declaring war. Ivan looks like the type to do that shit anyway. Creepy bastard.

Oh-but then they'll _really_ need a queen more badly, won't they? Okay, never mind. Scratch that off, bad plan.

So he walks in his slow pace, so slow he knows in himself that Yao might just win from this little race that Alfred made-up in his head. His Jack's physically weak that it hurts how he looks like he's trying to kill himself just to keep the pace with Alfred's usual strides, sometimes.

He was about to reach for the door knob when one of his guards comes running towards them, trying to catch his breath. He must've run quite a distance.

From the looks of it, it was something important too.

More important than Alfred meeting a prospective bride, anyway.

But still! Anything is better than being forced to get married! Yay for this guy! His mind soars with delight, whereas the him on the outside furrows his brows, his face grave as he asks the man what was wrong. His mind was screaming "Yes! Get me outta here!" at the same time.

"A man was found by the docks. He was suspected to be a crew of _Titania,_ Sir."

At this, Alfred and Yao stiffen. _Titania._ A few days ago, Alfred received news from the navy that they encountered the infamous pirate ship. They tried to negotiate at first, get the crew to give up without risking a fight but as expected, their words were replied with a shot of a canon and a fight ensued.

Titania was reported to have sunk, half of its crew missing along with its elusive captain.

They had what was left of its crew in custody under interrogation but so far none has spoken a word about their captain's whereabouts or even its name or face. They were drawing blanks.

Finding another crew-who could possibly help move the investigation further, would be a big help.

It seems that the marriage interview will have to be postponed, but Alfred does not see anything to be happy or sad about it at the moment. There's a chance that they can get information on the Titania's captain. This man whose tales were told of by fishermen and merchant ships alike. The one they heard that managed to sink the Diamond's armada, of all things. Antonio never stopped cursing him and his ship on days he drowned in ale.

"Take me to him."

* * *

When Alfred sees him in the interrogation room, the first thing that comes to mind was, he's _clean_.

It was a strange thing to think of, because the men that they detained were all filthy. The water that was used to wash them clean came up muddy. It was a given, with them spending most of their days in the sea-bathing was a privilege where clean water is used more for quenching one's thirst.

This man though, he's clean. He heard that he was given new clothes-upon noticing the plain shirt and pants, his feet bare. His skin is scarily pale that it made Alfred wonder if this man really was a crew of Titiania or was just a person who happened to get washed into their docks.

So far, the only ship reported that have sunk in their waters was the Titania, so any doubts about him being anything else but a pirate was out in an instant.

"Has he said anything yet?" He asks the man in charge in the room as he looks at the pirate through the one-way mirror right outside the room he was contained in.

"We have yet to speak to him, Sir."

Alfred takes his time to reply, content to observe the man as he turns his head full of pale hair to turn towards the mirror, right at Alfred's direction as if he heard him. His eyes are big and bright, full of curiosity and innocence that is not befitting of someone of his kind. Alfred had heard of the news, of the people and the ships the pirates had raided. How they take all their supplies and barely leave a barrel of food to last the victims for a few days until they find a port to seek help.

Titania is a name that the sailors have grown to be wary of. To avoid at all costs.

"Let me," Alfred says, his expression hard, making him appear older. He couldn't let people like him do this anymore. It's not right.

He gets escorted towards the room, where he sees the pirate stare at the mirror, staring at his own reflection it seems, with the way the turns his head left and right, touching his cheek and ruffling his hair. It makes Alfred feel uneasy. Something about this feels off.

"You, sit properly." His escort tells the pirate. The pirate turns his attention away from the mirror to look at them, his eyes lingering for a moment at each of them, taking their appearances in. Alfred wasn't wearing his coat, the only clothing people use to recognise him as their King, aside from the pocket watch that would usually reside in his chest pocket. It was going to be impossible for this man to know that he's a monarch.

The man before them gives them a wary look, his brows furrowed and his jaw set. He would probably growl if it wasn't for the men behind Alfred carrying rifles. He raises both his legs and wraps his arms around them, using them as shield from the threats in front of him by trying to make himself appear smaller. Weaker.

Once Alfred is seated, he asks, "Do you know why you are here?"

The man's brows remained furrowed, his lips set into a frown and his chin tucked behind his knees. He shakes his head weakly.

"Do you remember what happened before they found you?" He shakes his head again.

"Can you speak?" At this, the man opens his mouth and croaks. He clears his throat, then tries again, "…yes." His voice was weak, a sign that he hasn't spoken since he was detained-maybe for even longer. Alfred is starting to frown again, something really wasn't right. He asks again, just to confirm his thoughts.

"Do you," he feels himself hesitating, but he has to know. He has the right to, he remembers. This is an interrogation. "Know who you are?"

At this, the man turns away. His eyes focused of his toes, fingers wriggling against the cool steel they were resting on. His hands tighten from where they grip at his legs and he looked troubled.

"No." He says, with finality.


	2. Chapter 2

A man claiming to not know his own identity after being found floating almost half-dead by the docks was not a surprise to Alfred's men, claiming that a suspect pretending to not be in any way affiliated with whatever they were accused of was already expected from the very moment they took him in for interrogation after everything was checked and done in the medical ward. The doctors said that the man was good to go, after all. Meaning he doesn't have any injuries that could be fatal in the long run.

As believable as those were, Alfred still found himself in doubt. The man's reactions-to himself, more specifically-the way he moves and fidgets in his own seat like he has no idea on what to do with himself, what to do in the situation-seemed so real.

If all of this were just some act, then Alfred could really give it to the guy-he's good.

Alfred gets pulled from his thoughts when he hears the door to the interrogation room open, followed by some hisses and grunts. He hurriedly turns his attention to the noise and sees one of the guards grunt as they struggle with pulling a person inside the room. He's dirty, wearing the same clothes he had when he was first brought in. The smooth floor squeaks whenever he presses his bootless foot down, trying his hardest oppose the guard that was dragging him into the room.

Alfred turns his attention back to the man in front of him, trying to look for any sort of reaction. Something akin to recognition.

Unfortunately, there was nothing.

On the other side though, unexpected it may be, their captive stiffened. His body grew rigid, giving the guard a chance to push him completely inside and toss him to a seat that was recently pulled next to their John Doe.

At first, he appeared like he cannot take his eyes off the man before him, barely making a reaction as his cuff was attached to the metal table, keeping him from bolting and making a commotion, as he was known to do in the past few days they were kept in custody. The next moment after that, as if getting his composure back, he turns his eyes towards Alfred, the person sitting in the opposite side of the table, their supposed interrogator. His face tells Alfred that the man was expecting to be slapped across the face. Alfred knows that that could be due to past experience, but he chooses to do nothing about it at the moment. Desperate times call for desperate measures, most especially if these people aren't afraid to kill any of the guards they can get close to. Alfred lost two men already, killed by plunging a sharpened bone into their jugular, of all things.

These people are not something to be taken lightly.

"For the last time, I'm not saying anything." He growled. Alfred noticed their John Doe flinch at the sound then shuffle away, further into the other side of his seat.

"What about to your friend over there?" Alfred points his chin towards their John Doe, who stared at them in silence, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It's as if he had no idea of what was going on.

Alfred continues, "You're the first mate, there's no way none of the crews wouldn't recognise who you are," he turns his head towards their John Doe's direction, "and vice-versa."

This seems to have quieted the first mate, the hostility in his eyes evaporating into something like anxiety. He swallows as his face morphs into a deep scowl then turns a subtle eye towards the man next to him; his eyes boring deep into the other's that seemed to make him uncomfortable. Their John Doe's mouth hangs open for a while, and then turns his eyes towards Alfred then back to the first mate, as if asking Alfred for some help.

It doesn't make sense.

"What are you planning on doing to him?" The first mate suddenly blurts. He looked intimidating again, his dark hair dishevelled and greasy as they clung to his cheeks. He appeared animalistic, his hands gripping his seat's armrests tightly, his knuckles bone-white.

"So you _do_ know him," Alfred raises an eyebrow, unaffected with the visible threat in front of him.

He watches in satisfaction as the first mate breaks his expression, looks vulnerable for a moment before becoming desperate as he turns his head towards their John Doe, who remained unaware of the gravity of the situation.

Alfred isn't afraid to order torture.

If it will make Titania's crew talk.

"Arthur," Alfred raises an eyebrow, as he watches the first mate mutter a name, his attention towards their John Doe. The way he speaks of the name, as if it was something to be revered, to be held close. Thoughts ran wild in Alfred's head. He furrows his brows as he thinks of the possibilities, his hand absently coming up from his lap towards his chin as he leans his head to rest on it as he thinks.

The first mate knows who their John Doe is, and the way he treats him isn't a way a superior is supposed to address a faceless subordinate.

"What happened to you?" He continues, as he had forgotten he's being interrogated right now. As if he had forgotten that everything that comes out of his mouth right now will be recorded and noted.

As if they would not be used against him.

"Am I supposed to know you?" Their John Doe—now dubbed as Arthur-says, as he looks at the first mate warily, his feet rising to rest on the seat as well as he brings his arms around his knees to keep them close to himself.

The first mate gasps, "It's me! Sally! Your-!" his words come into an abrupt halt, his voice catching in his throat as he remembers just who and what their current audience was. This was the first time they had heard the first mate say anything at all. He turns a defiant look towards Alfred, as if daring him to say anything, to ask about it.

Alfred doubts that Sally is this man's real name. It sounded more like…a pet name.

...Doesn't it?

Arthur's confusion never left. He looks at Sally, _really_ looks at him, his eyes turning up and down his form. From his dirtied face up to his bare foot.

Arthur turns his head left and right.

"I'm… sorry, but I truly do not…" He seemed genuinely apologetic as he turns his head down; burying what he could of his face between his knees to hide his distress.

He doesn't recognise this man.

Alfred had never seen the look of defeat mar the first mate's face until now.

He doesn't know if this was a good or a bad thing. He's got too many unknowns to solve for their missing variable.

But that doesn't mean he couldn't find the relationship between X, Y, and Z.

"Well then, that's it for you." He says as he stands up from his seat, making a show of stretching out some supposed kinks he got.

He watches from the corner of his eyes as the first mate gets taken by guards, to be lead back to his holding cell. Contrary to Alfred, he doesn't seem to be done with his business yet.

Alfred gets the desired reaction.

"I swear, if you do anything to him, I'll-"

"-What, _kill_ me?" He cuts in, he seemed to have lost his composure for a moment, feeling the ends of his lips curl up into a smile that brought chills down those who saw it in the room. Sally the first mate seethes in his place, cuffed and held by two men bigger than him, making him incapable of acting on his desire to claw Alfred's eyes out, rip him open bare-handed and shove his innards up his smile after he successfully pulls it out of Alfred's own body.

"Your _darling Arthur_ is in good hands," he says, then walks to where Arthur sat to put his hand down Arthur's seat, just to watch those green eyes burn in hatred. He looks like he's going to chew on his own cuffs with how much he's gritting his teeth, his jaw set into sharp angles.

"Trust me." He adds, as an afterthought.

The first mate's mouth opens, about to retort but Alfred flicks his hand, signalling his men to put him back to his cell, and so he was dragged away.

When he's gone, Alfred turns to look at Arthur-if that really was his name, that is-who looks up at him in fear. Alfred can't blame him, really; if he heard those things about himself he would've bolted and ran.

Lucky for this guy, he won't be able to do much to him for a while unless he's proven to be really guilty. Alfred's words are law, with the position of the queen still empty and Alfred thinks that he had a lot of thinking to do before he puts some orders down.

He'll feel really bad if this guy was just some captive the first mate has simply fancied. Mateship is getting popular in the sea, last time Alfred heard.

For all they know, Arthur could just be a victim, really.

So he smiles down at Arthur, to reassure the man that he's safe and nothing bad will happen to him. When the actions failed, he tried with words.

"Sorry 'bout that," He says, apologetic, the words spoken low in his throat to not startle the other. "Gotta keep some things in line, yanno?" He winks.

When he gets no response other than a dubious look over Arthur's knees, his expression becomes sympathetic, his mouth quirked into a wry smile and his brows slightly furrowed. He gets on his knees by the chair-Arthur doesn't look like the type to kick someone's head off, so he wasn't wary-and sticks his hand out.

"Hey, wanna live in the royal palace for a while? Until we got your stuff sorted out-that won't be anything about hurting you. I promise." At this point, Alfred already gave up with getting any word out of the other. He doesn't seem like the talkative type, anyway.

"I'm Alfred, by the way." He grins.

* * *

 **E/N: "Sally" is short for Salvatore who is aph portugal in this au lol  
**


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